


Saving Dean

by fluffy_miracle (orphan_account)



Series: Slave 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Amnesia, Anger, Angst, Author Castiel, Bitterness, Blue Bloods - Freeform, Chicago (City), Destiel - Freeform, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drugs, Eventual Castiel/Dean Winchester, Family Issues, Fighter Dean, Fighting, Fluff, Hospitals, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rehab, Revenge, Rich Family Dynamic, Secrets, Sex, Slave Dean, Slave/Master, Slavery, Slow Burn, Stealing, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Violence, Whips, Writer Castiel, injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/fluffy_miracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's a slave. He doesn't remember his family, his past, or even his own name. Until he meets Castiel. It's a tumultuous relationship. More time a part than together, but through the trials and tribulations of remembering who he used to be and coming to peace with who he is now, Dean comes to realize that it's okay to love himself and this fellow lost soul he calls Cas.</p><p>(Companion to Saving Gabe. Can be read separately).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knocking On Heaven's Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a companion fic to 'Saving Gabe,' but both will make sense on their own if you don't want to read both. just certain information will come at different times. :)

A slave lay twisted on the floor, handcuffed to a desk, and shrouded in darkness. He was too well trained to make a sound, but the rate of his breathing was increasing as the door opened.

"You're an-n-n idiot." The man that had kissed the slave earlier was back, leaning over the slave's bare skin. "How'd- how'd you get mixed up with Mikey? He-he b-bad news, bad news bear." A giggle and a hiccup echoed in the empty office. "He says he's gonna fuck you up. I gonna-gotta get you gone." Click. The handcuffs sprung free. "L-lucky for you, I know my way around with these," another giggle, "bracelet. Now go, get outta here. I'll show you out." The slave was yanked to his feet and pulled out of the office.

He could see the man who kissed him better in the light. His eyes were so blue that the slave wondered if they were even real. He shouldn't be listening to this guy. This guy got him in trouble with master. Got him caned. Got him cuffed to the desk. He got the slave in trouble when he had been being good. This guy was the reason his master was so angry at him. But this man was a free man. The slave had to listen, didn't he? "H-hurry, Green Eyes. Can't let the bear catch us."

The slave pulled his wrist free, wide eyes. "Oh, no, no, no, no." The drunk man reached over and grabbed the slave's arm. "You gotta go. He'll kill you because I kissed you. I m-might be a little high and a little drunk, but I'm not gonna get you killed." His voice dropped down to a whisper. "I can't fuck up another person's life." The man with the blue eyes pulled the slave down the hallway and to the servant’s staircase. “He was gonna come up and drag you out there. He was gonna display ‘just what you were good for.’ All my fault.” Well, the slave could agree with that point.

It was odd, the sensation of being stolen. The slave knew he was expensive. He knew he was well-trained. He knew he could please just about any master. Alistair, his trainer, had seen to that. The slave could handle just about anything. But he knew he would never be able to make his current master happy. So he called it self-preservation, if he had any left, and decided to let the high, drunk stranger smuggle him out of the mansion he had been living in for the past few months.

The stranger didn’t follow him out the door, hanging out it instead, flapping his hands like awkward wings that didn’t seem to work. “What are you waiting for? G-go! Run!” The stranger pulled back inside as he heard a noise, closing and locking the door behind him. He flapped his wing-hands at the slave one more time before he vanished from view. The slave didn’t like being alone; didn’t like not having a free person to listen to. He ducked low though, running past the bushes, towards the curled iron gate. If this was freedom, he didn’t like it much. He didn't know what to do. 

It was hours later than the incident with the slave when a very drunk and slightly high Castiel Novak was escorted from the mansion by his driver. 

"I think you've had enough, sir." 

"I had enough before I got here." Castiel growled back, collapsing into the backseat. He rolled over and clawed through his belongings scattered over the floor. "Ah." He found a rattling bottle of pills, quickly shaking out two or three and popping them in his mouth. He leaned back against the leather seats, sliding down. The driver got in and the car started to life. They pulled it away from the mansion, Castiel starting to zone out when the car jerked to a halt. 

"What the fuck?" The driver swore, looking back to make sure Castiel was okay. "You all right back there, Mr. Novak?" 

"Fine." Castiel slurred, waving his hand in the air. "What happened? Did you hit and d-dog or something?" 

"Not quite." Castiel slid up and forward, peering out the windshield. "I think it's your brother's?" Castiel swore under his breath, recognizing the slave he has sprung through the fog of chemicals he was on. 

"Get him off-off the street and in-into the car." Castiel blinked, squinting some more. He needed to sleep off this mixture. "Deal with this shit tomorrow." He was coherent enough to know facing the brother he had just punched in the face would not be wise. His driver had been smart to get him out of there as quickly as he had. Who knows what would have happened? The Novaks were notorious for family fights or at least they had been when their Dad had been alive. 

The driver got out and approached the slave cautiously. The slave shone in the lights of the car, golden paint still splattered all over his body. He had been pristine seven hours ago, make-up perfect, not a glimpse of his skin showing under the golden paint covering him from head to toe. Castiel had to kiss him to get him away from Mikey; he remembered that now. But here the slave was again, his perfect golden paint was broken in swatches where he had been punished. The slave raised his hands, palms bared to the driver, protecting himself. 

"Get in the passenger seat." The driver herded the skittish slave over to the car, opening the door for him. The slave knelt down on the floor, facing the seat. He glanced in between the driver and the passenger seat, catching sight of Castiel. A slow breath of relief was the only sign of recognition he showed. Castiel on the other hand was too out of it to show any proper sign of greeting. The driver got back in, shifting gears, and getting them all back to the hotel room in one piece. 

Castiel stripped off all his clothes and dove into bed as soon as the door was closed. He twisted himself in and out of the sheets, burying himself deeper. He was asleep within minutes, surrendered to the concoction he had taken. The slave looked around the large hotel room, swallowing hard. He did what he was trained to. He locked and latched the door, closed the curtains, and turned off the lights. Like a good slave, he curled up on the floor, by the side of his new master's bed, grateful that he hadn't been turned away. What was a slave without a master? 

Castiel woke up an hour later with a pounding migraine. He thought nothing of rattling out a few more pain pills to help him sleep. Castiel didn't care if he lived or died, not anymore, not since Gabriel. He was going to finish his book, his confession, and let the whole world know what really happened to his favorite big brother. And then he could take just a few too many pills. It'd be called an accidental overdose in the papers: the tragic end to a bright but troubled author who just had to follow in his daddy's footsteps. 

Just Castiel's father might still be around if he had taken the drugs. Castiel rolled out of bed and retrieved a fresh pack of cigarettes from his suitcase. He lit one with shaky hands, staring out at the dark LA skyline. It was almost dawn, but Castiel still felt trapped in the darkness. 

A whine interrupted his second cigarette. He whirled around, peering through his own smoky exhale. Oh. He had forgotten about the slave. Last night and the early morning was a melted pile of goopy memories that Castiel would rather not sift through. He hated going to his brother's events; he hated the constant reminder of who was missing. Who was probably dead. Castiel had given up on his book helping him find Gabriel. Now he just hoped his book would help him find some peace. 

Another whimper. Castiel flicked on the lights, searching for the stolen slave. It wasn't the first time he had stolen a person, but it was the first time he had brought said person back to his hotel room. The slave was lying on the carpet by Castiel's bed, good training, twitching as he wrestled with some unseen foe. The slave tossed to one side before heaving a gasp as he came to abrupt consciousness. 

"Bad dream?" Green eyes snapped on him and the slave scrambled to his feet. Castiel noted he was holding himself upright, stiffness evident throughout his body. Oh. Yea. Mikey had beaten him bloody. There was ripped skin over the slave's cheekbone, gold paint and dried blood all matted together. Castiel might actually be able to pull off his heist with Mikey having damn aged the goods. Scarred slaves didn't have a good resell value. "What was it?" Castiel pried, sucking down the rest of his cigarette. His hands weren't shaking so much anymore. "Come on, answer me." 

The slave hesitated before signing 'fire.' Well-trained, indeed, if he knew more than one language. 

"You were dreaming about fire?" Castiel had learned through his time working with displaced slaves tee teeing society that he needed to be direct. Choices were not friends for those who had just acquired freedom. The slave nodded. "Speak when I ask you too. You got a name?" 

"Slut." Yea. Castiel was the only one who got their father's way with words. Could be a worse name though, considering it was Mikey they were speaking of. The slave's voice was almost as deep as Castiel's, disuse evident. Castiel had been right in guessing that the slave was one of those 'don't speak unless spoken to' slaves. 

"Mikey doesn't own you anymore. You gotta a real name?" 

"No." The slave shook his head. He looked uncomfortable to be talking to a free man. Some trainers cut the vocal chords of mouthy slaves, but the best trainers knew how to make them refrain from talking of their own free will. Castiel needed to get his hand in Green Eyes' papers. 

"All right. Go start up a bath." Castiel turned back towards the window, reaching for another cigarette. The slave turned and did as he was told. Good. Castiel grabbed his trusty pill bottle, searching for something to help the slave with the pain. Purple bruises were blooming like flowers in the field of gold that was the slave's back. Abused. Mistreated. Raped. Castiel's brain couldn't stop supplying him with the words to describe the slave's previous situation. Once a writer, always a writer. Castiel was no savior, hell, he wasn't even a good man, but he wasn't going to let Mikey get this slave back.


	2. Benny and the Jets

Castiel was impressed and disgusted with the level of obedience the slave in his custody possessed. The bath water was the perfect temperature as Castiel sank below the water. He opened his eyes, staring up at the half golden man and sighed, blowing his reserves of oxygen up to the surface, bubble after bubble.

A minute passed and the surface of the water was calm. The slave was anxious, glancing at the water every few seconds. Castiel resurfaced, inhaling deeply, noting how the slave's shoulders relaxed. Interesting. Castiel's welfare was something of concern. 

"Get in." Castiel ordered, sliding back against one wall of the large tub. It would hold them both easily enough with just enough touching to make Castiel feel horny. He could control himself though. He wasn't an animal. 

The slave didn't hesitate, stepping out of the expensive jade thong he had already slipped down his strong thighs. He stepped into the water with the grace of a dancer and sat down like an obedient slave ought to. Castiel Novak really hated slavery and how it stripped people down to just mere shells. He hated that slavery got his brother and it was all his fault. Castiel ran a wet hand through his bed head, making his hair stick up more, before snagging a washcloth off the nearby towel bar. Dipping the white, terry cloth under the water, Castiel soaped it up, causing more bubbles to float on the surface of the water. The slave hadn't moved a muscle, even containing his initial flinch as Castiel twisted the washcloth over his bruised back. Rivulets of water ran over broken skin and golden paint. "I apologize in advance." Castiel brushed the cloth over those broad shoulders. "This will most likely hurt." He reached over with his other hand, grabbing the pills he had found. "I think it's Advil." He wrapped an arm around the slave to show him. "Take one; it will help with the pain."

Castiel didn't see the flash of distrust in the slave's pretty, green eyes before a pill was picked up with the precision of a jeweler and swallowed. Castiel dumped the rest of the pills on the floor and grabbed a second washcloth, dangling it over the slave's shoulder. It was a good thing this slave was injured or Castiel might have him in bed already. Castiel was only human and this slave had the body of a god. He didn't want to know how much money his brother spent to buy the man in his bathtub. "Wash your front." He commanded. "Start with your face. I'll patch it up when you're clean and dry." Castiel toyed with the idea of ordering his slave to answer him when he got no response. He rejected it though since the slave was doing as told. 

Gold flecks floated on top of the dancing reflections of two men drying off just outside the tub. Castiel wrapped the rescue up in large, fluffy towels, pleased to see his face was not terribly damaged. The slave was a handsome man. Castiel really needed to get laid before he did something he would regret. He would not treat this man the way Mikey did.

A knock on the suite's door drew Castiel away from the slave. "Be back soon, Freckles." Castiel had taken to that nickname as soon as he saw the galaxies of freckles covering the slave's body. He was gorgeous! Too bad there wasn't much left of him but his prettiness. "Who is it?" Castiel growled at the door, knowing full well who it would be.

"Room service." Ah, there was his other brother's usual sense of humor. 

"Mikey sent you to do his dirty work again?" Castiel cracked the door open, peering out from behind the latch. "What do you want?"

"You stole the slave I bought for Mikey. I'm here to take him back."

"No can do." Castiel pursed his lips. He was going to need another cigarette soon if this conversation kept up. Lucifer was a damn good lawyer, better than he ever was playing the flute. Castiel smothered the urge to smirk as he unlatched the door. "Come see what your precious Mikey did. Freckles!" Castiel called out, closing the door behind his tall, hulking brother. Lucifer was the biggest out of the four brothers, and he was the most dangerous. Which if anyone knew Mikey, that was saying something. 

The slave walked out of the bathroom, no towel, no nothing. Lucifer let out a low whistle as he surveyed the damage left by Michael's rage. Lucifer stepped up to Freckles and ran his finger over the ripped skin on his cheekbone.

"Goddamnit, Michael. I paid half a million for this one."

"I'll take him off your hand for a discount." Castiel smiled over at Lucifer. "Might as well get some money from him since you know his trainer isn't going to take him back looking like that."

"No, Alistair wouldn't, not unless I paid him."

"So what's the problem?" Castiel went and retrieved a cigarette, lighting it up partially so he could see that disgusted look on Lucifer's face. 

"I don't want to encourage any of your criminal activities." Lucifer walked around the slave, cataloging the injuries. 

"If you let me buy him, it won't be criminal anymore."

"Why this one?" Lucifer asked, pushing the slave down to his knees. "You've stolen plenty of slaves from us. Why did you keep this one?"

"I don't know." Castiel was telling the truth as he took a long drag. He blew a smoke ring before finishing up his cigarette. At least his hands weren't shaking anymore. 

"He's captivating in his own way, I suppose. But he's a little empty for my tastes." Castiel didn't want to know what that meant. Rumors were that the greener the slave, the less trained the slave was, the more of Lucifer's attention they got. Lucifer liked a challenge. Lucifer liked training his own slaves: the fresher the better.

"He's still in there."

"I see you're still holding on to some foolish hope that Gabriel's going to come back to us."

"No." Castiel shook his head. "I'll never see him again."

"My lawyer told me about the book you're writing." Lucifer was never good at beating around the bush. "If you publish that shit, you'll never be published again."

"What? You're going to sue me?"

"You bet." Lucifer ran his hands over his suit. "You have no proof for what you're writing."

"Sure." Castiel shrugged. He had fucktons of proof, but he had locked that proof away where no one could find. Lucifer could try to sue him all he wanted. Castiel had dug deep and found things out that he hadn't wanted to know. 

"Send me a check by the end of the week." Lucifer nodded towards the slave. "I'll take that jade thong back though. That's worth more than he is now." The slave kept his eyes downcast, wondering what he looked like now to be deemed so worthless all of a sudden? He had an urge to feel his face, but he knew better than that. He knew better than to move without a master's permission? The slave wondered what was happening to him. He wondered why he never seemed to be cured of the fight lying dormant and restless in his bones. Alistair had made him compliant. Alistair had made him forget everything, but this itch to lash out, to disobey.

The slave blinked as the door slammed shut, his new master latching the door behind the man who had just left.

"I'm Castiel." The man said, his fingers twitching against his leg. "You're staying with me from now on. Stand up for me?" This was the first time the slave had heard a command sound lien a question from this man's lips. "Lucifer is sending me the rest of your paperwork, so I'll figure out a real name to call you, okay, Freckles?"

"Yes, sir." The slave knows this master likes to hear his voice. The slave doesn't want to give him is voice; his voice had been the only thing he hadn't had to give his masters in the last few years. 

"Good." Castiel was peering over the sheet of paper that documented the sale of the slave, complete with signatures of both Novaks. "You're ruining my reputation. I hope you're worth it." The slave ducked his head down, waiting for an order, waiting for a chance to prove himself. Castiel pulled some clean clothes out of his suitcase and tossed them at the slave. The slave caught the clothes, looking down at them like they were foreign to him. "Put those on. We have a plane to catch." The slave looked up in surprise. "I don't live here." Castiel addressed the slave. "I can't stand to be in the same states as my dickish brothers. Mikey's here, Lucifer is in Seattle. New York is out of the question. I went to the Midwest to write and to get away from it all."

"What happened?" Castiel laughed bitterly.

"What didn't? Come on, Freckles." He pulled out the collar Lucifer had dropped off. His brother had been prepared. He had known Castiel wasn't giving Freckles up. Good. Castiel was glad they knew he wasn't going down without a fight. It was inspiring. Castiel had to do right by Gabriel, someone had to. And for the moment, he felt like he could do just that. "I've got a book to finish."

The slave was a little taller than Castiel, but Castiel's jeans and t-shirt fit him well. "You look good." Freckles tugged on the well-worn hem, pulling the shirt down. Whatever pill his master had given him had taken the pain away. He had expected an awful trip or to lose control of his body, but no, Castiel had just given him a pain reliever. It was a nice change from his other masters; a fantastic change from Alistair. The slave hated Alistair with all that he was, but Alistair was all he could remember. Alistair had always been there. His thoughts were interrupted by Castiel collaring him. It was a thick, brown leather collar, polished enough to shine. The slave reached up and touched it, not hiding his smile. It was an honor to be collared, especially so soon by a new master. He would treasure this. Castiel was oblivious to how proud his slave was, disgusted that he had just collared another human being. "I hate collars." The slave gave him a concerned look, fingers brushing over the leather on his throat to make sure it was still there. "No offense." He seemed to come out of it as if he just realized the slave was still there. "I put that on you so no one will take you. I do not support slavery."

"Okay." The slave shrugged. Masters say whatever they want that makes them feel good about themselves. 'Freckles' figured they'd be breaking in this new master's bed whenever they made it to the new place. The slave was used to being bounced around from place to place.

They were both silent, something the slave took comfort in, as they traveled to the airport and checked in. They boarded the plane, Castiel riding in first class. Most slaves were checked at the gate, sedated, and caged in a special cargo hold, but Castiel paid extra to keep Freckles with him. His slave didn't like flying, but he stayed quiet, kneeling by Castiel. Castiel wrote most of the flight home, only pausing when the captain announced their descent.

"Welcome to the Chicago O'Hare International Airport. Temperature is 40 degrees. On behalf of myself and the crew, I'd like to thank you for flying with us." Castiel went to grab his bag from under the seat, but his slave was already carrying it. He stopped the slave only to pull out his wrinkled trench coat. He'd have to get his slave a jacket, but for now a sweatshirt from the airport's many gift shops would do.

"Let's go then." Castiel held his hand out, taking the slave's slender wrist. He kept his grasp gentle, but he was not losing Freckles so close to home. The slave was grateful for the guidance, unable to stop glancing around the airport. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head when Castiel bought him a sweatshirt with the skyline on it. Castiel knew slaves rarely saw the inside of airports, so he let him look. They grabbed a cab and continued their journey to where Castiel lived. Freckles was looking everywhere, staring out at the lake and up at the skyscrapers. "Feel free to take it all in." Castiel waved his hand in the air, searching in his bag for what pills survived security. A few did and Castiel popped all three of themes the pulled up in front of a luxury apartment building. "My dad was rich." Castiel explained before he even saw those beautiful, green eyes widen in awe at the opulence. "He left us all a considerable inheritance."

"A cab, Clarence? How quaint." A sharply dressed woman met them outside of the building. "Your editor called, sounding more than intimidated by your brother's intentions to sue." Castiel shook his head, stepping past her, pulling his slave behind him. "Is that it then?" The woman gestured towards Freckles. "You've joined them for a pretty face and a pretty ass?"

"Never!" Castiel tugged Freckles past the doorman. "Set up a meeting tomorrow. I'll explain everything before." He did not deal with his assistant or his editor was he was high. He just wanted to get to his penthouse and enjoy the ride up. That TSA had missed one of the feel-good pills. 

"Enjoy your high." His assistant have him a knowing look. "You have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow." She gave Freckles the once over. "Cute hoodie."

"Thanks, Meg." Castiel called out before the door shut. "Come on, Freckles." He pushed the button for the elevator. "Welcome home."


	3. Dear God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: drug abuse, overdose, suicide attempt, suicidal ideation. None of which I support or promote. Take care of you and don't read if those are triggers for you. The other chapters will recap.

The notes were smooth, rich, and full. The notes were just loud enough to wake the slave up from his slumber, stretched out on a bed that was somehow all his. It had taken him the better of a week to actually use it, but here they were. Castiel had only had to pin him down to the bed and threaten him for him to snap to. The slave had never such beautiful music before. Pleasure slaves weren't taken to orchestras or operas unless their master thought they would be bored. The melody sounded hauntingly familiar before silence and then a thunderous crash.

The slave, Freckles, Green Eyes, and whatever part of his body his master happened to be admiring at the moment, sprang up from his bed and ran downstairs from the loft to find his master smoking on the couch. The thick smoke told the slave that his master had abandoned his nicotine for something stronger. At his feet, lay a gorgeous cello. It's wood shone in such a lustrous color that the slave felt stricken to see to it toppled over. He hurried over and picked it up, even after his master waved his hand and told him to 'leave it.' 

A string was broken. The slave reached over to try to fix it, but Castiel rose and pulled the expensive instrument from his hand. Behind him, on the expensive coffee table, his joint smoldered into nothingness.

"I said to leave it." Freckles didn't dare meet the challenge in his master's blue eyes, releasing the cello and lowering his head instead.

"It's beautiful." The slave said softly. "Your playing." Castiel scoffed, kicking his toe against the base of the cello.

"I don't know why I bother to keep this. I used to play stuff by the real masters and now I can barely get through a Beatles song." Castiel let the instrument toppled back over, his slave clenching his fists at the crash. Interesting. Freckles wanted to save the cello. Only Castiel's command was holding him back. Fascinating.

"Hey Jude." The slave lit up as he finally recognized the tune. 

"Don't tell me you prefer the Beatles." Castiel groaned. 

"No." The slave shook his head. "I just like that song. It reminds me of home." Of course, he didn't remember home, but a consistent place to sleep and a consistent master for the last few weeks was enough. The song was a bonus. Castiel studied his slave, thinking on what Freckles had just said. It was the most he had said since moving in.

"Come here." Castiel patted the empty space next to him on the modern-style couch. He poured himself a glass of whiskey as the slave complied. There was no waiting with this one. Even Castiel could see that this slave was trained perfectly.

"Yes, master?" Freckles settled down next to him, green eyes wide and innocent. Castiel could bet his inheritance that it was all a trick, an illusion. Pleasure slaves only looked naive. Castiel sipped his whiskey, studying the naked man perched next to him. He had given Freckles clothes, but no command to wear them. Freckles didn't wear them.

"Just rest." Castiel kept a hand on his slave, toying with strands of dirty blond hair that stuck up. Freckles leaned over and stole a sip of Castiel's whiskey, staring his master down the whole time. It was a bold move, but it was also a seducing move. Castiel's slave was always trying to prove his worth. Castiel was sure he was more than worth the money he wired to his brother, but he hadn't found it in himself to hate himself enough to sink that low. Even if those green eyes were so very pretty and those lips were so very full. "Come with me." Castiel put down his glass and pulled up his slave with him. "I'm having a party tonight."

"To celebrate your book?" Castiel grimaced at the question, but waved away his slave's apologies.

"It's more of a life celebration." He shrugged. 

"It's your birthday."

"No." Castiel tugged his arm harder. "I don't actually remember when my birthday is. I haven't celebrated that in a while."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? You don't remember your birthday either."

"No, sir." Alistair had pumped him too full of drugs to remember. Maybe that was why Freckles had such a hard time seeing his master so addicted.

"Anyway..." Castiel pursed his lips. They were in the elevator, zooming down at a speed that was always alarming to his slave, judging how he clung to Castiel. "This book is the last big thing I want to happen in my life. After it hits, well, I don't want to be around when the shit hits the fan if you know what I mean."

"You're moving?"

"Yea, yea, Freckles, I'm moving."

"To another building."

"No, I'm moving upstairs. Okay, downstairs is more likely, but you might actually get what I'm getting at. We're having a party and I'm just gonna let go, buddy, have a good time and float into nothingness." The mental image of the joint burning out popped into the slave's mind, only this time he understood: Castiel was the joint.

"Why?" He gaped. His master was successful. He had money, talent, connections, freedom... The slave didn't like his own bitterness welling up. Castiel had everything. And so he said just that.

"I don't have my brother. I don't have anyone who actually likes me. They all use me for money or sex or drugs." Castiel lamented. "I don't know why you care, you'll be freed once I kick it." Freckles frowned, folding his arms. "I've asked Meg to take care of you, make sure you get rehabilitated okay. God knows you won't survive out there like this." Castiel gestured to his slave's body.

"No." Freckles shook his head. "No."

"No what? You'd rather live as a slave?" Castiel would have freed him already, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't go back to living in his huge apartment alone.

"No to all of it. It's dumb and selfish." Smack! The slap had already knocked his slave back against the steel doors before Castiel realized he had raised his hand. 

"Don't back talk."

"Fuck you." The slave bit his lip nervously, taking a step back. He had gone too far. He didn't know what was wrong with him, why he was so willful, so unhinged. "I'm sorry, master. I don't know why I said that. Please punish me as you see fit." 

Castiel burst into laughter that seemed too shrill and too forced to be real. But he was laughing until a fat tear rolled down his sharp cheekbone. Freckles' master bent over, trying to catch his breath. He chuckled as he took in his slave's shocked face.

"You know, for a moment there, I thought you might actually have enough spine to make it out there." Castiel pointed out the now-opening elevator doors. "Put this on." He handed Freckles a bag with some designer's name inscribed on the outside. "I'll need you to look nice."

"Please don't do it, sir." Castiel turned as the slave approached him, dressed in the suit Castiel had ordered. It fit like a glove. Castiel had half the mind to pull his slave back into the elevator and rip that suit off in his bedroom, but not today. They made it to the front door where Castiel's car was already waiting for them.

"Do what?" Castiel asked lazily, lounging in the backseat. Freckles was stiff across from him, taking care to not wrinkle the suit like Castiel had asked.

"Don't end your life."

"Don't ask me that. You can ask me for anything else, but that." Castiel was feeling generous. "Now I need you to behave tonight. Make me look good. And whatever happens..."

"Sir?"

"Don't try to save me."

The party was fucking awesome. Castiel had already had sex with two different people and a possible orgy coming up next. He left the room feeling fuzzy, walking back into the main party area. The air was thick and heavy with smoke from various drugs. This was a rich and famous party and it was exactly how Castiel wanted to go out. This would make headline news. He stumbled back as a man rushed into him and pinned him against the wall. Something about the whole thing made Castiel feel hot, blood rushing to his groin.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Was whispered harshly in his ear.

"Been looking for someone like you to make me forget all my worries." He grinned back. All this champagne and something else was making his head float. Castiel wasn't worried about a damn thing and it felt amazing. "Want you to fuck me." He whined, pressing up against the man's bulk. There was an impressive cock under all those clothes—a cock Castiel needed yesterday. He found the waistline of the man's expensive pants. "Anyone ever tell you how pretty your eyes are?"

"You do everyday." The man said grimly. "What did you take?"

"It doesn't matter." Freckles. Castiel's brain numbly supplied. The man he was propositioning belonged to him and might fuck him if he ordered him. Castiel needed it: chasing one last high before he caught the last flight out. "I took enough." He pulled the man's head down into a sloppy kiss, prying his tongue past those tight lips. "Wanna make my last minutes good?" He slurred before chasing that kiss with another. What little clothes he had on, he wriggled out of as his slave maneuvered them back into a private room.

"Wait on the bed." His slave ordered, all dominant, just how Castiel needed him to be in this moment. Castiel did as he was told, hands and knees, presenting his ass as the world spun around and around. Something was roaring over the music as his vision started to grow blurry and dark. It was a pity. Castiel dropped, curling up on his side as everything swirled into nothing. He kind of would have liked to had sex with Freckles before he died.

His slave was on the phone with 9-1-1 before Castiel's eyes closed.


	4. Your Credit's No Good

Castiel opened his eyes to find himself lying in a bed, attached to beeping machines and tubes down his throat. He looked over to his side to find the chair there empty: he wasn't surprised. Ellen had told him what would happen if he went back to drugs. Castiel couldn't blame her: he was as sick of breaking her heart as she was having her heart broken. 

"Well, you look like shit." Castiel looked back to see an all too familiar face. Of all the people he expected to see, not her. His heart nearly ripped in two to see her. 

"Hey." His face split into a welcoming smile. "I didn't expect to see you."

"Well, it was pretty clear my mom wasn't coming."

"Jo..."

"Don't bother, Cassie." Jo smiled. "That's between you and her."

"You're not mad?"

"That you're breaking heart? Yea, I'm mad, I'm pissed, but I wasn't any better back when we were all together. I mean look at me. This isn't exactly prime condition."

"No, I guess not." Castiel laughed weakly. 

"I'm pissed you aren't actually coming to see me too." She pointed a pale finger at him. "But mom shouldn't have to bury another one of us so soon."

"I'm not— I'm not."

"No, you're just visiting. They got to you in time. You're going to live."

"I guess I am supposed to be relieved." Castiel rolled his eyes. He was anything but relieved. Jo laughed.

"Not yet, but you will." Jo got up to go. "He saved you, you know."

"Freckles?" Castiel closed his eyes. Of all the perfectly trained slaves, he had the one who would take care of him against orders. 

"Dean." Jo supplied.

"How do—."

"I'm dead. Everything is a little clearer over her. Also, I knew him once; I had a hue crush." Jo giggled. "He's a good guy, even when he can't remember that he is." Castiel reached over and grabbed her white hand.

"I miss you."

"I know. I miss you too, Cassie." Jo bent over him, pressing chilled lips to his forehead. "Now don't let me catch you wandering around here yet. It's not your time, sweetheart." 

"Jo." Castiel tried to hold on, but she was fading away again. One last smile and a whispered conmand.

"Go back, Castiel. Rise and shine, assbutt." 

"Jo!" Castiel cried, the teasing insult the last blow. "Jo! Don't leave me!" But she was gone; the chair empty, not a trace of warmth behind.

Castiel woke up with a gasp, choking on tubes and apparatus that he didn't know the names of. Didn't matter. Castiel set to work, clawing at his face, trying to yank the tubes out. He gagged hard, tears springing in his eyes as he curled up in bed, struggling to get free. Machines were squawking, going off, causing a throbbing headache by the time the nurses and doctors rushed in.

"He's awake." They sounded astonished. "Get him off those life-support machines." Castiel's arms were pinned by his side as those tubes were removed.

"Where am I?"

"You were in a coma." The doctor pulled out his file. "We were about to contact your next of kin. You've been out for weeks."

"What about Freckles?" Castiel pulled the sheets up to his throat, rubbing the soreness. Someone offered him an ice chip which he took. His throat was parched and cracked. He had been out for weeks? "My slave." Be clarified when all he got were blank looks. "My rescue from my brothers." He clarified further. His book had been out long enough that he shouldn't be broadcasting his ownership of another person. "Dean, his name is Dean." He shook his head. He didn't believe in life after death, or he didn't. But he had seen Jo, could smell that stupid perfume she always wore because some guy who didn't stick around said he liked it once. Jo had been here; Jo wouldn't lie to him. "I want to see Dean." The name felt foreign in his mouth, but it felt right. Castiel was going to have Meg do some digging.

"He's being taken care of by your estate." That meant Anna was in town. Castiel groaned. He was not relieved to be alive, especially if he had to see his cousin. She was about all he could handle from his birth family, her and Balthazar, but Balthazar was someone else entirely. He was more likely to sleep with Cassie than to berate him. Castiel preferred sex over arguments, even with cousins, not that he had ever taken Balthazar up on any of his offers. That had always been Gabriel's department if the rumors were to be believed: Gabriel was always pushing limits and boundaries, doing whatever he wanted. Castiel smiled to himself. Gabe had always been larger than life. 

It was the first time in a long time that Castiel could smile at a memory of Gabriel. His brother had his flaws, but he had more good in him than bad. Gabe wouldn't hurt a fly unless they deserved it, and even then... Gabe had been too forgiving a few times when it came to certain family members. And look, where mercy had gotten him. Castiel's smile turned sour.

"What?" He snapped as the doctor touched his arm.

"I asked if you heard what I just told you."

"What? No." Castiel sighed. "Sorry, my head is killing me."

"You've gone through some withdrawal, but I have a feeling that more are to come. You've abused your body quite a lot, Mr. Novak." It was weird being addressed by his real name instead of his pen name. "You'll be set up with a nice stay in a rehab facility before you get to do that book tour."

"I never wanted that book tour." Castiel laughed bitterly. "Now they'll have me doing a tour about not doing drugs." 

"Yea, doesn't sound fun."

"Well, it was fun taking them." Castiel growled. "I got to forget all this shit."

"And that's my cue to get the psychologist." The doctor smiled, patting Castiel's shoulder. "You'll be fine, young man." As if he had no clue about all the shit Castiel had gone through. He probably didn't. He saw a lot of people going through a lot of shit everyday, but Castiel had still wanted more from the doctor. Castiel had gotten used to being the center of attention, no matter how negative.

They moved him to the drug rehab place as soon as he passed all the doctor's tests. He wouldn't talk to the rehab psychologist, Billie , but he didn't have to. They had read his whole damn book. She was tough. She knew how to make him crack without having a conversation with her. Castiel left those meetings crying more often than not. It was more crying than he had cried in years. 

Halfway through the program, there was a visitor day for those who had progressed far enough to be rewarded. Castiel didn't bother signing up, staying in his room and his self-imposed silence. So when a knock came at his door that couldn't lock, he didn't get up to answer it. Another knock, much more timid, made him a little curious.

"Come in." He said softly from where he was curled on his bed. Castiel wasn't trying to take care of himself. His beard had grown and he had lost some of his drug-induced gauntness. Castiel wasn't about to repeat himself since his invitation had been ignored when the door quietly opened and Freckles walked in.

Freckles looked different too, his hair had grown out some, but was a manageable length, gelled upward. He was wearing some of those designer clothes that Castiel never ordered him to wear. He was thinner though, and skittish. Castiel didn't like that. That meant someone had taken control of his slave, someone who wasn't Meg. Castiel had given her specific instructions. Freckles came to Castiel's side, looking repentant to a degree. "Hey." Castiel gave him a small smile, trying to lighten his mood. 

"I'm sorry, sir."

"For blatantly disobeying me?"

"I couldn't let you die. You had given me everything. It didn't seem right." There was a crease in that flawless forehead.

"Lie down with me. It's straining my neck to look up at you." Freckles, no, Dean, complied with only the slightest hesitation that confirmed more of Castiel's worries. Once the slave was pressed against him, his ear purposely pressed over Castiel's heartbeat, Castiel tugged on his collar to reveal the bruises someone had sucked on to his neck. "Don't apologize." Castiel murmured. "Especially when you don't mean it." Dean opened his mouth and then shut it, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Who did these to you?"

"Ms. Milton, sir." Dean swallowed hard.

"Were you willing?"

"She's your cousin. I was just obeying orders."

"Were you willing?" There was a long pause before those green eyes sought blue.

"No."

"Good." Castiel wrapped an arm around him. "You're mine. Don't sleep with her again."

"Yes, sir." Dean smiled ever so slightly.

"Did Meg tell you what I told her?"

"What you're naming me, sir?"

"It's not what I'm naming you. It's always been your name. Your name is Dean."


	5. Starving Faithful

"Your slave is a pain in my ass." Anna Milton was a bright, pretty lawyer, but she was also really annoying when she wouldn't drop a subject. Bulldog. That was what they had used to call her when they were kids. Castiel had loved her when they were younger, but like the Novaks, the Miltons were just as much snobs when it came to the rumor that one of their own was a slave. Gabriel was more than dead to them as well. 

Anna had been different. She still supported slavery, but she supported Castiel telling his story and Gabe's story. There was a special bond between close cousins, even when they annoyed each other.

"I heard he was a pain in another part of your body." Castiel fired back. "You should know better than to touch him or to have him touch you."

"Well, you weren't using him." Castiel glared over at her. He'd been out of rehab for about two days and he still had yet to see Dean again. He missed him oddly enough, now that he wasn't pissed at Freckles for saving his life. "Besides, you're like a known author who basically just screamed to the world that he hated slavery. Why you still own him is beyond me."

"It's clear that several things are beyond you." Castiel sniffed. "Can I see him now?"

"Once I get the call that your place is completely clean." Anna fixed him with a look. "What were you thinking? No one can take that much shit, no matter how invincible they think they are." And there was the worry on her face. Guilt wormed through Castiel's gut. He couldn't tell her the truth. Anna would never be able to handle knowing that Castiel had tried to kill himself. Dean and Billie knowing was enough.

Yea. Castiel had cracked big time after Dean's visit. He had told Billie everything. It had been an ugly session, but Castiel had somehow felt cleaner after. His father had always said that confession was good for the soul, but Castiel had always felt disconnected from his father's religion.

"I wasn't thinking." Castiel muttered, tracing letters on the table. Anna watched him with sad eyes.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

"Anna, I took too much. I was too busy celebrating that I took too much."

"As long as it wasn't on purpose." Anna needed to hear him say it. Anna needed him to lie. Castiel owed her that much. He didn't bother hiding how that question bothered him, knowing that she would see what she wanted to see.

"God, Anna, how can you say that?!"

"I just wanted to make sure." But she relaxed into her chair, sipping at her latte. Her phone pinged, and she glanced down. "Your place is ready. Now remember, any drugs, and you're going right back to see Billie." Castiel had a sinking feeling that Billie had told Anna everything. Anna would believe him over the psychologist though. Family was all they had: fame had ensured that. "I've had Dean delivered there, so he'll be there when we arrive." Castiel got up, already pacing at the door.

"Good."

"And you're welcome about getting you out of that book tour." Castiel gave her a weak smile at that before getting in the car. 

Back at his apartment, Anna didn't stay long. She stayed just long enough to kiss Castiel's cheek and whisper in his ear that she was glad he was okay. Damn her, she meant it. Castiel felt bad for lying. He felt bad about the whole fucking situation. He did not like all these feelings; that had been the one good thing about the drugs. But Billie had taught him some self-coping techniques as well as giving him her work cell number. He wasn't alone in his self-imposed loneliness. It was nice.

"Dean?" Castiel waited until Anna was gone before he called his slave to him. Dean unfolded his legs from his kneeling position, rising at Castiel's call. Without the drugs numbing him, Castiel found his power over Dean almost intoxicating. Or maybe he just missed being intoxicated. The latter was more believable even though Castiel had never had much power over anything in his life.

"Sir?" Dean stood before him, looking nervous. He looked thinner than before. Castiel frowned at the bruises on Dean's wrists. Anna had put his slave in a kennel once Dean stopped pleasuring her. Dean was proud of his slave but pissed that Anna had put Dean in a kennel at all. That brown leather collar stood out against Dean's pale, perfect skin. Castiel wanted to taste him. He wanted to do more than own Dean, he wanted to possess all of him. Dean was his.

"If I use your name, I want you to use mine, Dean."

"How did you learn my name?" Dean asked suddenly. "Did Alistair tell you? He wouldn't tell me." The slave shuddered. "He didn't want me to remember who I was."

"The dead." Castiel answered truthfully. "When you saved my life, I saw someone who knew you. She told me your name."

"Who?"

"Her name was Jo."

"Was she my family?"

"No." Castiel shook his head. "She was mine."

"I'm sorry." And Dean was. Castiel could see the genuineness in those beautiful eyes. It endeared Dean to him all the more.

"Do you remember your family?"

"I don't know." At Castiel's disbelieving look, Dean hurried to explain. "At least I don't think I do. I dream of fire sometimes, fire, screams, and a baby." He spoke the last words in a whisper. "I don't want to remember."

"You want Alistair to win?" Dean flinched at his trainer's name. Castiel could grasp some of the hold that man had over Dean: he was a monster in every way. He played God in those lives that he bought. It would take time to help Dean past all the ghosts and mental scars Alistair had given him. Dean wasn't getting those drugs anymore: it would only be a matter of time before those effects were reversed. Meg's source had been very confident that Dean's drug-induced amnesia was reversible.

"I think," Dean chose his words very carefully, "that Alistair made me forget for a reason. He didn't like to make slaves forget. He liked to bend someone to his will without wiping them clean first. Alistair liked the mess, but apparently I was too messy."

"I think you're perfect." Dean smiled.

"That's what you're supposed to think, sir."

"Castiel."

"Sir." Dean lowered his head, his gaze, baring his neck. "I can't change all in one day. I want to please you, but I can't change as fast as you want me to."

"Then we'll just start small." Castiel took Dean's hands and pulled him closer. "Lap." He ordered. Dean grinned, wolfish and sharp, straddling Castiel in an instant.

"Yes, sir." He said in a rush, his voice hushed and breathless. "Wanted to please you since you bought me that damn hoodie." Normally, Castiel would protest the use of the word 'please,' but Dean's confession and the closeness of his body was giving Castiel very specific ideas on what he should use his mouth for instead. He hooked a hand around that freckled neck and pulled Dean down into a possessive kiss. Castiel didn't withdraw until they were both out of breath, locking eyes with Dean as he asked.

"Are you attracted to me, Dean? Don't lie to me. We're both way past lying to each other." Dean bit down on his bottom lip with anxiety in mind not seduction. 

"Yes, sir."

"Why?" Castiel pressed, hooking his hands in Dean's black t-shirt.

"You're different. You're not like anyone I've ever met, sir. You're, I don't know the word, sir, you're just special!" It was earnestly spoken like Dean hoped Castiel knew how much he meant it. "You're kind." Castiel had not been called kind in a long time. It triggered memories of the men and women he helped as he had blindly searched for his brother. Funny how finding Dean made him feel like he had found something else he had lost. "Not just attracted to you outside, sir, attracted to what's in here." Castiel took in a breath, realizing that he had forgotten to breathe with Dean's hand pressing against his chest. Castiel surged forward, hearing what he didn't know he had needed to hear, reclaiming Dean's lips.

"Don't just roll over for me." Castiel panted against Dean's lips, pausing to regain his breath after thoroughly exploring Dean's mouth. "You're my equal, or you will be soon enough."

"Sir?"

"Dean, what would you do if I said to do whatever you wanted with me?" The hitch in his slave's breath was answer enough, but Dean bravely answered him with a shaking whisper.

"I'd worship you, sir." Castiel smiled encouragement to Dean, leaning back against the couch, leaving Dean sitting above him.

"Well then," Castiel's voice was hushed, reverent almost, as his gaze swept over Dean's hungry expression, "take me to church."


	6. Stay With Me

Castiel shivered and Dean shifted in his lap. Castiel hadn't been with anyone since his suicide attempt. Castiel knew by taking this step into whatever this was with Dean that things would change. He had only done casual hook-ups in the past few years, making sure to push away anyone who tried to get close.

Dean had been the first person to push back. Dean was pushing back now. Castiel wondered if Dean knew how much strength he had in him as Dean's hands wandered, working on Castiel's shirt buttons, flicking them open. Castiel knew if he went through with this, with Dean, there would eventually be nothing casual about them. He wanted too much and for whatever reason, Dean felt that way too, at least as much as he could feel that way in his current station.

"Gorgeous." Dean breathed when he pushed Castiel's shirt open, taking in all he could see. He pressed his fingertips against the tattoo scrawled out over Castiel's ribs.

"For protection, to keep me hidden from harm." Castiel told him, confessed in the same hushed voice he had used earlier. This was sacred whatever this was: it had him spilling his secrets as he had never told a soul about that tattoo. "I thought whoever took my brother was coming for me next." Castiel had been so scared, for Gabriel and for himself. He shuddered at the memory, brought back by a warm mouth covering his. Dean leaned back again, causing Castiel to lurch forward, chasing Dean's lips. Dean rewarded him with another kiss before putting a hand to his lips.

"I'll keep you safe, sir." He promised solemnly. Castiel didn't know why more heat flared up in his belly, arousal surging. Gabriel had been the only other person to actively protect him. Ellen had tried, but it had been Gabriel who had given Castiel a safe place. He should stop comparing Dean to Gabe, especially with his erection pressing up against Dean. Castiel contented himself with taking Dean's hand in his own, keeping it to his lips, mouthing his gratitude against freckled fingers.

Castiel had problems. He could acknowledge that, but not right now when he was being pinned against the couch by the most attractive man he had ever seen. His hips jerked up as Dean's band moved down to cup the bulge in his jeans. "Shh." Dean's other hand was pressed to his mouth again. "Here, floor, or bed, sir?" Castiel shimmied free, jumping over the back of the couch, shirt fluttering behind him, to present himself to Dean on the floor. "You want me to pleasure you this way, sir?" Dean pressed his clothed erection against Castiel's ass, brushing my forward in a meaningful way.

"Yes!" Castiel arched his back. "God, yes." He hadn't felt so needy in a long time. Maybe the need to consume Dean was a need to be consumed himself. He had been clinging to what control he had for so long and that has been taken away with his drugs, his sex, his alcohol, and all his self-medicating. 

"Shh." Dean moved his body away. "My way, remember?" Castiel shivered as soft fingertips trailed down his still clothed spine. Castiel didn't like Alistair, hated his methods, but he trained a damn good pleasure slave. Dean was everything Castiel ever looked for in a partner back when he had been normal. Now nothing was normal. "Keep still; don't move." Dean cautioned.

"Or what?" Castiel wriggled his ass in the air.

"Then nothing." Dean's teasing tone was hot against Castiel's ear. "I'll leave you here, all alone, begging."

"Fuck." Castiel choked, his body going very skill. "I'm sorry, sir, I won't move."

"My name is Dean, sir." His slave paused. "Don't forget what we are. I'm only doing this because you're letting me." Castiel whipped his head around to glare at Dean.

"You, Dean, are ruining the mood." Dean's eyes went big and he quickly hung his head. "No, no, no." Castiel pushed himself up, resting on his haunches. "You're supposed to go back to the scene, supposed to fuck me." 

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry." Dean's facade was cracking, tears welling up in those green eyes. "I just wanted to please you." The slave was on his hands and knees now, forehead pressed against the carpet.

"Dean." Castiel sighed, standing up, glancing down at his hard-on. "I guess we're doing this the not-as-fun way." He helped his slave up to his feet once Dean finally looked up at him. "Go to my room, take your clothes off, lie on your back on my bed."

"Sir?"

"And get yourself hard by the time I get there. I have to find my lube if Anna didn't use it all."

"It's in the bathroom, should I—."

"No, do what I asked." Castiel wasn't known for being a patient person.

Dean walked towards the loft, his lean body slipping behind the glass wall. Castiel watched him go before finding his bathroom. He'd prepare himself. It had been a long time since he had bottomed. Castiel started the shower and stepped inside, making sure to clean himself thoroughly. He dried off quickly before slicking up his fingers and pressing two inside of himself. He made quick work of stretching himself. He didn't want to keep Dean waiting. Wrapping a towel around his hips, wiping his fingers on the edge.

Dean looked nervous and small, stretched out on Castiel's bed. He gripped his cock in one hand, but his hand was having little effect.

"I'm sorry." He stammered as soon as Castiel stepped into the room. "I didn't mean to ruin the mood." 

"Shh." Castiel let the towel drop. The situation hadn't affected his arousal at all. Dean focused on his cock, his training taking over. "Dean?" Dean snapped back to attention, looking to Castiel's face. 

"Sir?"

"Relax. You didn't ruin anything. You'll just have to take me to church another day." Castiel's cock bobbed as he walked over to his bed.

"I'd like that." Dean nodded, still on edge. "I'll make it up to you."

"Dean." Castiel sighed. "I'd really just like to fuck now."

"Oh, right." Dean chuckles nervously. "Sorry." He shifted back, scooting up as Castiel settled on the bed, straddling him in one quick movement. Dean reached forward, fingers brushing over Castiel's cock. Encouraged by his master's low moan, Dean grasped him more firmly and began to slide his hand up and down Castiel's shaft. Castiel slicked his own hand up and began to stroke Dean's cock in return. 

"S-sir." Dean jerked in Castiel's grasp, but Castiel swallowed his protest with a kiss. 

"I'm in charge now." Dean's pupils dilated slightly as Castiel worked him to hardness. "Do you trust me?" Dean hesitated but nodded. He trusted Castiel to an extent. He trusted him to not hurt him like Michael had. Castiel didn't push his luck, just kept working Dean over until Dean was lost to little gasps and writhing. "Now sit still." Castiel went up in his knees before lowering himself down, slowly guiding himself on to Dean's cock.

"Master..." Dean whined.

"Say my name." Castiel moved slowly, easing himself through the motions. It had been long time since he had done this. He relished the stretch though. "C'mon, Dean, don't hold back on me." He rocked his hips, experimenting with rhythm. "You feel so good." Castiel praised as he finally found a rhythm. Dean's eyes were just about bugging out of his head, his mouth opening and closing, nothing but soft, nonsensical sounds coming out. 

"Yo-you."

"Castiel." Castiel started harder and faster, sliding up Dean's cock only to slam it back inside.

"C-C."

"That's it." Castiel's hand scrabbled for purchase on Dean's bare skin. His slave was starting to be slippery with sweat, his hips finally bucking up to thrust further into Castiel. Fucking finally. Castiel rode Dean to the best of his ability. Castiel was very capable, setting a pace that had the both of them coming undone. 

"C-Cas." Dean managed before he came with a sharp groan, pumping Castiel full of his release. Castiel slowed his pace, milking Dean's dick. He rode him slow, dragging the head of Dean's cock over his prostrate while Dean's hands faltered in their stroking before Castiel too tumbled over the edge. 

How he managed to stay upright was beyond him. Perhaps the view of Dean below him utterly blissed out was too much to pass up on. Castiel panted, hands planted on Dean's thighs as he leaned back, supporting himself as he slowly caught his breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had sex with someone without the aid of some kind of high. Castiel felt incredible. And sleepy as Dean yawned beneath him, stretching slowly as some life sparked back into those beautiful eyes. 

Dean was so beautiful, but now as he was relaxed and boneless, Castiel could see the cracks in his armor, the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles and scars that told of a hard life.

"Did I please you, Cas?" Dean rumbled, still too lost in post-orgasm haze to pick up on his slip. Cas. Castiel wanted nothing more than to be called that the rest of his life. Cassie was dead. Castiel too. But Cas was a kind man with some sort of future that wasn't as lonely as his past. Castiel hoped he could someday be the man Dean thought he was. Someday, Castiel could be a 'Cas.'

Castiel slipped back up onto his knees, feeling every bit of emptiness as Dean's softened cock left his body.

"You did." Castiel let Dean tug him down, lying next to his slave. Dean peered over with tired eyes. Dean's face broke into a grin, white teeth flashing.

"Get some rest." Castiel was losing coherency but not enough to notice Dean's freckled back shifting as he got up and pulled covers over his naked master. A few minutes later a wet washcloth was cleaning Castiel up as his eyelids began to close on their own.

"Stay." Castiel murmured. "Stay with me."

"Sir?" Dean hovered for a moment, long enough for Castiel to grab his wrist. 

"Stay." Dean hesitated before tumbling back down, letting Castiel cover him with the blankets. "And my name is Cas. At least, for you, it is." Dean made a noise of contentedness as Castiel pulled him close, seeking out his warmth. More blankets were pulled up before Dean settled against him, a warm pillow for Castiel to cuddle into. Castiel hadn't been held in so long.

Dean had no problem holdig him close, toned arms wrapped all around him. Cas felt safe for the first time in a long time; safe enough to feel... happy.


	7. I Don't Want To Go Home Right Now

"Dean?" Castiel reached out into the vast emptiness of the other side of the bed, searching for the man who had held him until he was put back together the night before. His blue eyes cracked open long enough to see that Dean was no where in sight. Castiel sighed, ignoring the soreness from last night. Getting out of bed was not an option. Castiel snuggled back into his pillows, easing his stiff body into a more comfortable position. He sighed, opening his eyes again. It wasn't the same without Dean. "Dean!" Castiel felt bad for the sharpness, but he knew Dean would respond to that far more quickly. Speed was most important. Castiel missed Dean.

"Mast—Cas?" Dean croaked, standing up slowly as if he was in pain.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, sir." At Castiel's raised eyebrow, Dean tacked on a quiet, "No, Cas."

"Where were you then? Were you downstairs?"

"No, Cas." It was almost torture for his slave to address him so casually, but Castiel needed him to get it through his thick head to not call his master or sir.

"Were you on the floor?"

"Yes, Cas." Dean's head hung low, eyes focused on the floor. Castiel was focused on him, appreciating that he was still nude.

"Why?" Dean lifted his shoulders, staring at the floor now. "Answer me."

"Was scared."

"You were scared?"

"Yes, sir." Castiel sighed, sharp and disappointed. "Cas!" Dean scratched his arm, leaving a pink trail.

"Stop that. Why were you scared Dean?"

"Scared you'd find me in your bed."

"Look at me, Dean." It was agonizing, the slowness of which the slave raised his head. The guilt in those green eyes made Castiel's stomach flop. What on earth could have made Dean feel this bad? "Why would you be afraid that I'd find you? I asked you to stay with me last night." The guilt was mixed with fear and Dean hit his knees so hard Castiel could hear the muffled bang from the floor. "Don't break your knees. Stand up."

"I'm sorry, master, I'm so sorry." Castiel could hear Dean chanting an awful litany of guilt and fear. "So, so sorry, I can obey. I'll be good. Please don't send me to the kennel or to the market. I'll listen. I didn't know. Oh god, I didn't know. Most masters want me gone, don't want me in their bed." Castiel had been set on interrupting the word vomit that his words has somehow unleashed, but he was horrified and fascinated by what Dean was revealing.

Dean was being honest. Dean was showing Castiel, trusting him with his brokenness. "I'll do whatever you want, please, sir. Please, Cas!" Castiel's name was almost shouted, the slave becoming short of breath. "I didn't leave you, just left the bed in case you changed your mind. Masters don't like me on the bed: I'm dirty." That last worn was whispered as Dean pressed his cheek against the carpet. "I understand that you don't want me. I'm too filthy, too bad, too broken." Dean's words were cut short by a sob, a shattered sound that made Castiel jump. He hated such a sound of agony coming from such a sweet person. Dean was nothing but good: he tried so hard. "I'm dirty." Dean's mouth moved against the carpet, tears running down his cheeks, off his nose.

"Dean." Castiel didn't know how he sounded so composed when Dean's words had affected him so deeply. How many times had he felt the same way about himself? How many times did he still wince at the sight of the man in the mirror? At least Dean could blame others for his brokenness. Castiel had mutilated his own self. "Dean, I can't move down there because your dick was just too good last night," Castiel chuckled, "but I would if I could. Please come up here so I can see you." 

Dean wiped his face and rose to his knees, ever obedient. He sniffled, freckles blotted out by redness. "Up here, in bed, where you belong." Dean's face fell, but he nodded.

"I'll make it up to you, sir. I can be real good. I can ride you real good or suck you off. Whatever you want. Please don't get rid of me." He struggled to his feet, trying to hold back more tears.

"Dean." Dean stilled at his name leaving his master's lips again. "You're not in trouble. You are so good.

"What?" Dean hiccuped. If he didn't sound so broken, Castiel would have smiled. 

"Yes, Dean, you are so good. You made me feel so good last night." That chest puffed out a little and Dean shifted on his feet, cocking his head as he tried to comprehend what Cas, perfect, good Cas was saying. "You're so thoughtful, anticipating that I might change my mind." Dean fidgeted. "But I didn't change my mind, so if you're feeling up to it, do you think you could climb back into bed and hold me like you did the night before?"

"Yes, sir." Dean's reply was instant and breathless. "Yes, Cas." He corrected himself. "I'd love to please you any way I can." Well, they could work on that another day, Cas thought, as Dean snuggled back against him, molding into the perfect pillow.

"Thanks, Dean." Castiel smiled against warm skin, falling back to sleep shortly.

The next few days, Castiel and Dean settled into a weird routine of trying to communicate and failing. The only time they seemed to be on the same page when when they fell into bed. Cattle had tried to put boundaries, to keep Dean from feeling he was a sex slave to him, but of corse, Dean just took it as rejection. Castiel couldn't stand seeing Dean so down, couldn't stand seeing him punish himself, so back into bed, back to each other they fell. They needed each other like drowning men need water.

All Castiel really asked of Dean was that he be as honest as he could be with Castiel since everything else he freely gave. The way Dean have himself over to Castiel was intoxicating and overwhelming, Castiel didn't know what to do but to do the same. They fit, jagged pieces, broken pieces, hidden pieces and all.

It was a good thing too, especially when Ellen came to visit a couple weeks later.

"Your mom is coming?" Dean was curled up on the new couch that he had helped Castiel picked out. Castiel liked seeing him there, relaxed, hugging a pillow to his chest.

"Yea." Castiel scooped up a blanket that had fallen to the floor.

"You never clean." Dean scrutinized him as Castiel began to fold the blanket. Cas grinned but Dean was already up. "Here let me, I should—."

"Dean." Castiel gave him a playfully exasperated sigh. "We've talked about this. You're not my slave. You have your papers—you're a free man." Dean folded his arms and Castiel raised his eyebrows. Illinois was a much easier state to free a slave than it was to free a slave in California. A few days, a few mountains of paperwork, and a few thousands of dollars—Dean was a freed man. Dean, of course, was being a shithead about the entire thing. He didn't accept his freedom, even with his papers and passport tucked away in the drawer of his nightstand.

On the other hand, Dean didn't call Cas master anymore. At least, very rarely and only when he was very upset. He still unraveled from time to time, so did Cas, but they managed to pull each other back together. Castiel didn't know how long they could keep this up, but he was okay as long as it kept working. They kept each other grounded.

"Your mom would freak if you had a slave."

"You could say that."

"So you freed me so she wouldn't get mad, not because you want to get rid of me."

"I told you. I don't want to 'get rid of you.' I want you to stay with me because it's your choice."

"It is!" Dean bobbed his head. "I don't want to go anywhere!"

"Shh." Castiel grabbed Dean, pushing down on to the couch. He straddled Dean quickly, pinning him down. "I'm not sending you anywhere, you got that?" He buried his hands into Dean's hair, staring into those expressive eyes that showed Dean's shock, disbelief, and gratitude. Dean leaned forward, hands clutching at Castiel's shoulder blades. Cas let Dean pull him into a kiss, giving the reassurance Dean needed. Yea, they were fucked up, but they were all they had.

"Well, hello there." The two men separated as Ellen walked in. "It's so good to see both my sons have found someone who makes them happy." Castiel's smile faltered as the meaning of what Ellen had said. This was why Ellen has been so insistent on seeing him. She, she found Gabriel.

"Wait, what?" He fell off Dean's lap. "You said both your sons—you've seen Gabriel?! Where the hell is he?! And why isn't he here?"


	8. Hold, Hold On, Hold On To Me

Dean stayed out of Castiel's way as his former owner (yet his master in just about every way) packed two bags in a silent rage. Dean carried the bags to the taxi and stayed silent as Castiel drove them to a small airport on the outskirts of the city. Okay, so there wasn't an airport, just a strip of runway with a hanger. A small but expensive plane gleamed in the sunshine, ready to go, just waiting for the two of them to arrive.

"The private jet is ready, Mr. Novak, Mr. Winchester." The pilot tipped his cap from the door to the cockpit. Castiel just stormed by him, but Dean nodded in greeting.

"Thank you." Winchester. Dean had forgotten that was the last name on his paperwork. Slaves didn't need last names. Slaves didn't usually remember their families whether it was because of training, drugs, brain injury, or forgetting. Remembering was usually too painful for anyone to hold on to their memories for long. Winchester. Wait—wasn't that the same name as the man who had Castiel's brother? Ellen had given Castiel enough information about Gabriel to make Castiel angry. Dean doubted it could be anyone he knew, but what if there was enough of a connection that he could help Castiel see his brother? Dean didn't want to see his family; didn't want to remember them, but he wanted to make Cas happier. He'd wait until the sullenness passed.

Castiel didn't bother talking to Dean or anyone that morning. He was afraid that all the anger and hurt inside would be misdirected at them instead of his fucker of a brother. Gabriel was safe. He was happy. And he wanted nothing to do with his youngest brother that he had taken care of for all those years. Gabriel was just like the rest of his godawful family. Gabriel had left him too.

The private jet took off, Dean white-knuckling the arms of the seat he had buckled himself into. The plane was smoother than any other plane he had flown on, but that didn't mean that Dean trusted this plane any more. Castiel wasn't fazed, sipping at a glass of bourbon that the too-friendly hostess had poured him.

As the flight droned on, Dean found his attention kept drawing back to that hostess for the reason that she kept engaging Castiel's attention. She was perky and annoying, like a pleasure slave who knew they had the master's attention. She liked Castiel, liked his look, liked his money. Fawning, giggly, but a free woman— she whispered something in Castiel's ear, squealing with delight when he shrugged and nodded. She slid to her knees and ran her hands down Castiel's thighs. Dean blinked back tears before a swell of rage welled up inside. He was angry at Castiel, angry at the flirty girl making moves on the only home he remembered having.

The zip of Castiel's pants made him turn his head. He hesitated for a moment before unbuckling his seatbelt, letting his anger drown his fear. He stood up and grabbed the hostess's arm, pulling her away from Castiel. She let out a yelp when he dropped her a few feet away.

"Back the hell off." He snarled. The airplane bucked on turbulence and he grabbed the top of Castiel's seat, trying to keep his cool. Castiel glared up at him, suddenly angry and sullen again. This time it was directed at Dean, for taking away yet another high from him. "You want something like that, you come to me." Dean gestured to himself. "If I'm anything to you at all, come to me."

"I want a fucking blow job." Castiel growled. Dean knew he was technically a free man, but he'd be crossing a line if he slapped the man who rescued him for being a spoiled brat. Dean found that he didn't want to give Castiel a blow job. He wanted Castiel to be nice again. Just then the pilot alerted them that they were approaching the estate. Dean slid back into his seat, buckling back up, forcing himself to not look at Cas. 

"I am not in the habit," Cas straddled Dean's lap, "of not getting what I want." His finger crooked under Dean's chin, making Dean look up at him. Part of Dean was so scared, wanted to apologize right there, but that anger still burned at the memory of Cas letting that ho put her hands all over him. "I see I'm not forgiven." Castiel said after a moment. "Perhaps we should discuss getting what we both want. You want me all to yourself."

"Yea." Castiel watched the way Dean's Adam Apple bobbed as he swallowed. Castiel was not putting him in an easy situation, but Dean was handling himself far better than Castiel could have imagined those months ago when he stole him. Dean had been so pliant and desperate to please. He still wanted to please Castiel, Cas could see that much in those jade eyes that glanced anywhere but at Cas, but Dean had a sense of dignity now, a sense of dignity that he didn't want to lose. Cas was at least glad to see that.

"Let me deal with this shit with my brother. I'll make it all up to you after." Cas jolted in Dean's lap, the former slave grabbing his hips to keep him from falling as the small plane touched down. "I'm sorry. I know how much you hate flying." Cas shifted, trying to regain his balance. Dean always had an effect on him when he grabbed him in any way shape or form. Cas was still dying to have sex where Dean was the one calling all the shots. No sleeping around, he reminded himself, no sleeping around. He needed to keep Dean's trust.

"We're here." The pilot stepped out of the cockpit, the jilted stewardess helping him with the door and ramp. On the tarmac, an expensive car was waiting. Dean couldn't tell the make, but he silently wished he could have the time to look under the hood and get acquainted. He liked cars. He didn't know why; he didn't remember when he was first drawn to them. He just knew he liked them and that he knew how to make them run. Okay, well, he hadn't tested that theory, but he knew he'd be great at it once he did. He'd have to ask Cas, but he had more than one way to be convincing if he really needed to be.

"Thanks." Cas grunted, getting up off Dean's lap. "Come on, Dean. Let me show where I grew up." Dean unbuckled and followed Castiel off the plane.

"Holy shit, Cas." Dean breathed. "You grew up here? It's huge!" 

"Ha, yea. Total dream." Castiel snorted. The pilot grabbed their bags and handed them off to the footman waiting by the ramp. 

"Welcome home, Master Novak." The driver bowed. Dean was startled, checking the man over, zeroing in on the leather collars around the driver's and footman's necks.

"They're slaves." He exclaimed, looking to Cas for some kind of explanation.

"That's my family for you." Castiel couldn't quite meet Dean's eyes. "They're big on slavery for the betterment of all, you know, right wing shit. See why I'm the black sheep?" He laughed bitterly. "They didn't care that Gabriel had been taken, stolen, and sold. They still kept feeding and profiting off the slave trade. Don't be hard on these guys though. They have a good life here. Joshua makes sure everyone is treated okay." Dean faltered before following Cas into the car. It felt like going back to being a slave. And that was the weirdest thought he had all day. Just because Cas gave him papers did not mean he was a free man and could do whatever he liked. He shivered at the cold air, but Cas pulled him into the warm car. "I forgot to get jackets, I'm sorry. We'll get warm clothes at the house." Dean nodded, falling silent. He pressed up against Cas, needing comfort. He needed to know his place.

Cas carded his fingers though Dean's hair, relishing the contact. He needed the comfort too. He hated coming back here, but this was the only proof left of Gabriel, the real Gabriel, the one who used to give a shit about Cas. "I'll keep you safe."

"Is he your slave, Master Castiel?" The driver asked.

"No." Castiel replied. "He's a free man, his name is Master Dean."

"I'm not a master!" Dean whispered harshly in Castiel's ear.

"You are now." Castiel replied firmly. "Recently freed." He managed to look apologetic. "Sorry. If I owned you..."

"Don't worry, Master Castiel, I'm happy here." The driver grinned. "I liked your book. Very touching."

"Thanks." Castiel folded his arms across his chest. "A lot of good it did me." He mumbled under his breath. Neither the driver nor Dean knew what to say to that, so they stayed quiet as they pulled up to the house.

"I will bring your luggage in, Masters, have a good evening."

"Thank you." Dean smiled at their driver. Castiel was already back to his sullen shell, stomping into the house like a toddler on a tantrum. "See you around." Dean ran after him, afraid of getting lost in such a huge mansion, scared of being put to work, scared he wouldn't be. This whole trip was very imposing. 

A slave led the way up a winding, wooden bannister with lush carpeting on each step. Dean couldn't make a sound if he wanted to. Cas came from money like the other masters Dean had. Alistair had to be laughing, wherever he was. Dean was still the eye candy on the rich Guy's arm; the difference was that he liked this one.

Dean looked around the room, wondering when his master, not-master had gone off too. Cas had sneaked away while Dean had been putting away their clothes even though the house slave and Cas had asked him not to. Dean had just needed something to do. 

"Master Dean!" The house slave straightened up as Dean peeked out of the door of the suite he was sharing with Cas. "How may I help you?"

"Uh, I was looking for- uh- Cas." Real smooth, Dean, Freckles, whoever he was.

"Oh." The slave looked nervous. "He asked to not be disturbed."

"Where is he?" Dean stepped out of the room, glancing around the spacious hallway. "Did he hook up with that bitch from the plane?"

"N-no, sir, he went to Master Gabriel's old room."

"Show me." 

"Yes, sir." The slave ducked his head. "Right this way, Master Dean." 

"So who all lives here?" Dean asked as he followed the slave around.

"Mainly just Mistress Naomi, but her sons all visit on occasion, the ones who are able..." The slave trailed off. Apparently it was common knowledge that one of the Novak boys was not as free as the rest. 

"Who is Naomi?" That question earned a shocked glance shot over the slave's shoulder.

"Master Castiel's mother, sir!"

"Oh, right." Dean was confused, but he wasn't about to show the slave leading him around. Free man or not, he was very out classed. He'd have to ask Cas why he had two moms later, if he ever found him.

"Here is Master Gabriel's room, sir." The slave stopped by the thick, carved door. "I will wait here for you in case you need anything."

"You assigned to me or something?" Dean meant it as a joke because come on, who would assign a slave to a slave?

"Yes, sir!"

"What's your name?"

"They call me Alfie, sir."

"Alfie, got it. Uh, thanks."

"Of course, Master Dean." This was getting weird. Dean gave Alfie a curt nod and opened the door to Gabriel's room cautiously. He didn't know what to expect, especially with the mood swings Tropical Storm Cas had been throwing today.

"Cas?" Dean didn't expect Gabriel's room to be in shambles. There was broken glass on the floor and bed, shattered picture frames hanging askew on the walls. There was a fist-sized hole in the wall, right above the pile of broken trophies. Dean didn't see Cas at first, only heard a sniffle that led him to the side of the bed. Cas's limbs were flung out as he leaned against the bed, tears dripping down his cheeks. "Hey." Dean brushed his fingers against Cas's shoulder.

"He was my best friend." Cas sniffled again, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. It was so childlike and real compared to the polished image Cas usually showed. "He promised to always be there for me!" Cas's fist struck the hardwood floor. "And he left. Just like Dad. Just like Stripes."

"Stripes?"

"My cat."

"Oh." Dean had never seen Cas sad before. He'd seen him suicidal and angry and horny and happy, but never plain old sad. He looked older and tired. His shoulders hung down like everything was weighing him down. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"I'm here." Dean almost regretted saying those two words, but they were what Cas needed most to hear. He pulled Dean down next to him, burrowing his face against Dean's chest.

"Thank you."


	9. Don't Trust a Perfect Person

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't judge Cas too harshly...

"Cas?" Dean poked his head out of the bathroom.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Do I have to eat dinner with your family?"

"Dean, I told you. You're eating with us. You're a free man, and with my family, well, you're going to need to act like it. They're like sharks, they go for the slightest hint of blood. Fake it until you make it."

"For what? You to drop me when the next stewardess bats her eyes at you?"

"I said I was sorry!" Cas turned, getting in Dean's face.

"I want better than sorry." Dean growled back. He didn't know what it was about Cas that pissed him off to the point that he forgot to be scared. He was more scared of losing Castiel than he was making his former master angry. 

"Get dressed." Castiel walked away, straightening his own suit in the full-length mirror by the door. "You've met everyone in my family except for Gabe, okay? You've just never had to deal with all of them at once."

"Way to change the subject." Dean snarked from the doorway, not above checking out Cas out in a suit. He looked good. 

"We'll talk." Cas faced him. "I promise." Dean scoffed and Cas softened. It seemed Dean wasn't the only one afraid of losing someone. Cas came back, fingers caressing Dean's bare bicep before squeezing his elbow reassuringly. Dean leaned forward for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

"Fine." He retreated back into the bathroom, back to getting into the expensive monkey suit Cas had bought him, as if the other one he owned wasn't good enough. Who cares who Tom Ford was?

"I just found out." Cas poked his head in. "Michael is going to be there. Are you okay with that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I won't let him near you." Cas promised solemnly. "Besides, mother will be there. Everyone behaves when she is around. Plus supposedly we have some mystery guest coming with Lucifer. That should be interesting."

"Cas, why two moms?" Dean asked as he pulled his suspenders over the crisp, white shirt before pulling on his black suit jacket. Castiel never could get over how good he looked, suit or no suit or nothing at all. His cheek has scarred over, giving him a sort of distinguished yet rugged look. Oh right, Dean had asked him a question. Dean gave him a look as he applied some product to his hair, styling it to the side like Cas had shown him quite some time ago.

"Naomi is my biological mother. Ellen is the mom who took me and Gabe in after we ran away."

"Why would you run away from here?"

"Because everyone used to be a lot less mentally stable. After Dad killed himself, Mother, Michael, and Lucifer used to fight all the time. A lot of shit happened, but because Mother is rich, no one went to jail. Gabriel—." Cas's voice broke. "Gabriel got me out. It was getting too toxic." Cas trailed off. "Ellen found us, took us in, and called Mother, asked for permission to be our legal guardian. Mother said yes."

"Shit, Cas." Dean gave a breathy laugh. Somewhere during Cas's story, he had drawn close, hand lingering along Cas's arm, giving him soft, tentative, reassuring touches.

"It's all right." Cas glanced over, gripping Dean's hand in his own. "We got out; we made something of ourselves. I'm so mad at him for moving on without me, Dean." Dean nodded, understanding that Castiel was talking about Gabriel once again. Dean wondered if he had any siblings and if he ever felt so strongly about them. He hoped he had a brother or a sister. He hoped the fire from his nightmares hadn't gotten them either.

Dean moved in closer and Cas sighed, letting go of his hand in favor of wrapping his arms around the small of Dean's back. He pulled him in closer, resting his forehead on Dean's strong shoulder. Dean was offering comfort once more, and though he didn't deserve it, Cas needed the reassurance.

"We should go." Dean murmured after a few minutes, his hands tracing over Cas's back. "It's almost 6." Dean had picked up on the strict punctuality that the mansion ran on. "We shouldn't be late."

"You're right." Cas pulled back, only stopped by Dean taking his hand once more. "Thanks."

"No prob, Cas." Fuck it. Cas leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Dean's mouth, moving before Dean to reciprocate or protest. Dean just made him so weak, but in all the best ways. Dean smirked before tugging Cas toward the door. He didn't want to be late despite how much he had missed the easy closeness he had with Castiel before Ellen had visited. Kissing. Kissing he could get back on board with pretty damn quickly.

They arrived to dinner one minute before six, Naomi's eyebrow already arched as they quickly took their seats across from each other. Dean glanced around, hiding his nerves the best he could when he recognized his former master towards the end of the table. The man who Cas had bought him from was across from Michael, a familiar stranger seated by Lucifer's side.

"Nice of you two to join us." Michael sipped his glass of bourbon. "Hello, Dean, is it?" He leered over. Dean ignored him, partially because of the sudden stab of fear in his gut and partially because he didn't know what to say. It seemed he was only brave around Cas, fitting as that was, Dean wished it wasn't true in this moment. Thankfully he was saved by the matriarch of the family who had been very welcoming despite his past.

"Enough, Michael." Naomi spoke up. "Dean is my guest." Slaves brought in salads, serving each person seated at the table. Dean was not used to being served or being called by his actual name. It was bad enough that the slaves called him 'Master Dean,' but having all these free folk treat him as an equal was disorienting.

"Yes, Mother." Michael muttered. He gulped down half of his bourbon, making a face. He then turned his attention to Lucifer and his very quiet guest that couldn't stop staring at Dean. It made Dean nervous. "So who's the new guy, Luci?"

"He's my coworker, looking to make some new connections." Lucifer's coworker bristled at the casual introduction.

"You fucking drugged me and then kidnapped me! I don't even know where i am. Where the hell am I?!"

"Everybody, meet Sam Winchester." Lucifer smirked, gesturing broadly with his hands as if showcasing him. "If he wasn't spoken for by Gabriel, well, I'd have fun taming that spirit." Sam flinched, looking how a mouse must feel when it's clutched in a cat's claws. 

"I'm sorry, what is his connection to Gabriel?" Naomi leaned forward. "Are you saying you've found Gabriel?" 

"We've tried to find him for years." Castiel piped up. "Ellen found him. He refused her help. Whatever." Castiel glared at Sam who was just staring at his plate now, Lucifer's arm around the back of his chair. 

"I bet that stung a little after all you did to find him, little brother." Michael snarked. "Especially with that damn book." 

"That's partially why Sam is here." Lucifer revealed. "You kind of portrayed me as a villain, Castiel. I don't like that because it's not true. You found what you were meant to find, not what really happened the night Gabriel was taken."

"How does this involve Sam? Are you going to pin Gabriel's getting trafficked on this poor intern?" Naomi was far more involved than she had been in years. Castiel realized he might have judged his family too harshly in the past. Chuck's death and Gabriel's kidnapping had shaken them all to their core.

"Who cares again?" Okay, well, maybe not Michael who was scowling over at Lucifer. "The intern is fucking Gabriel, big deal."

"I think it's more the other way around." Lucifer smacked Sam's arm. "Right, Sam?" Dean's eyebrows shot up at that, but Castiel was still feeling quite hateful at Sam for apparently being a great enough piece of ass to keep Gabriel away from his family. Michael chortled, almost choking on his drink. Naomi's right eyebrow quirked up as she controlled her own reaction. Typical Gabriel, making people laugh when he wasn't even there.

"Get to the point, Lucifer." Castiel spat. 

"He's a peace offering. Take back the shit you said about me and Sam will help you reconnect with your bestie."

"I can see why Gabe doesn't talk about you guys." Sam mumbled as the salad bowls were being moved away and the main course was being served. He didn't want to eat, but it had been a couple days since he had last eaten. It kind of didn't matter anymore if his meal was drugged or not.

"Probably didn't want to tell you that he abandoned his family when we needed to stay together the most, taking this little runt and teaching him his wayward ways." Dean locked eyes with this 'Sam,' finding a connection in the stranger's eyes. They were both more than uncomfortable with the way this family dinner was unfolding.

"I've had enough of this." Castiel folded up his napkin and dropped it on the table. "Please excuse me, mother. Brother," he addressed Lucifer, "may I speak to Sam alone?"

"He's a free man." Lucifer shrugged. "You can't steal this one."

"Wasn't planning on it." Castiel paused as he stood up. "Finish up dinner, Dean. We won't be long." Dean nodded, fidgeting his food around on his plate with his fork. Sam got up and followed Castiel out of the room, happy to finally be away from Lucifer. His 'coworker' was a little creepy, but he hadn't done anything other than drug and kidnap Sam. Oh, and make him feel uncomfortable with his nonstop comments about Sam's appearance or Sam's position in bed. Sam didn't want to know how Lucifer knew Gabriel topped most of the time. And not because it was easier. Sam liked giving Gabe control. Gabe always took such good care of him. 

Sam missed Gabe an awful lot right about now.

"Ion."

"Master Castiel?"

"Bring Sam to the basement, please."

"I'm not going—." Sam staggered back after Castiel delivered a vicious punch that glanced off Sam's mouth. It hurt. Metallic blood was tangy on Sam's tongue. 

"You're going to do whatever the fuck I say." Castiel had a handful of Sam's suit and not in the sexy kind of way that Gabe loved to do. "You're going to pay for stealing my brother away."

Upstairs, Dean glanced at the clock. Castiel and Sam had been gone a long time, about forty-five minutes if Dean was telling time right. He didn't think Cas would sleep with Sam. Sasquatch model types didn't seem to do it for Cas. Besides, he didn't think Cas would try something so soon after that damn plane incident.

"Excuse me." Dean ducked out of the dining room where only a few Novaks were left, sipping their coffee. Naomi nodded. "Good night."

"Master Dean?" 

"Hey Alfie."

"Looking for Master Castiel?"

"Actually, yes." Dean clicked his tongue. "Seems to be my thing, huh?"

"Can you calm him down?"

"What?"

"Can you calm Master Castiel down? He's scaring us. He's always nice, and it's like he's just lost it. He's hurting him." It could only be Sam, who as far as Dean could tell, had done nothing wrong. Dean felt bad for the guy. And Dean wished he knew why he looked so familiar.

"Show me." Alfie took off and Dean hurried after him, hoping he wasn't too late.

Sam's breathing was labored, his head hung over his bare chest. He hissed loudly as the whip snapped against his skin, leaving an angry red welt. Blood trickled down from a few scattered, open wounds as Castiel expertly handled beat him. He couldn't quite grasp why this man hated him so much. He had saved Gabe. He wasn't keeping Gabe back from anything, was he? He sobbed sharply as the whip sliced through his skin, more warm blood dripping down his tanned skin. God, please make it stop. Please. His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. This was it. He'd probably never seen Gabriel again. He jerked as the whip came down hard again.

"Master Castiel?" A timid voice that had come down earlier was back.

"I said go away, Alfie, or you'll be next."

"Cas." Another voice, a voice so familiar that it made Sam's heart ache. Hearing Dean's voice, seeing him at dinner... It had taken all of Sam's willpower to not cross the table and crush him in a hug. Dean was alive. He was truly alive. "Cas, stop!" The whip snapped and Sam tensed for the blow that never came. 

"Fuck." Castiel swore, his voice coming closer. "Dean, I—I'm so sorry. You know I'd never hit you on purpose. I'm so sorry!"

"He's my brother." Dean said in a shaky voice as if he couldn't quite believe it. Sam's cry of pain had triggered a memory of a boy who thought he had bat wings. The boy was on the roof, stretching his wings and falling, falling, falling. His wing was broken, hanging at an angle, as he tried to stifle his pained cries. "You hurt Sammy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well... That escalated quickly... 
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	10. Just Leave Me Lying Here

It was more than awkward after Castiel left to clean and put away his whip. Dean got Sammy down, but it was awkward. Dean remembered a small boy, not a full grown man that hugged him as fiercely as he could with his injuries. Dean hesitantly returned the hug and 'Sam' as Sammy went by now, stepped back quickly, somehow picking up on Dean's uneasiness.

"I'm sorry." Sammy's voice was different too now, deeper, rough from screaming. "I just missed you. We thought you were dead." If Dean didn't know this was his brother, well, he seemed like a nice master. Less volatile than Castiel. But Deanw as a free man and he couldn't keep thinking like that. Dean hated the gap in his memory. He hated not being able to know who his brother was or what he had been doing. Sam was adult now, he probably didn't still watch or read Batman. "How are you?" Dean didn't answer. 

Alfie led the two estranged brothers to an extravagant bathroom, so extravagant that Sam looked around in awe. "Nice digs." Dean lifted up a shoulder in silent reply. He didn't know what to say. He'd seen nicer. He lived in the lap of luxury with Cas now. He was a pampered pet while Sammy was used to real life, to struggling to survive without a master to feed or clothe him. It made Dean mad. He wanted to be able to take care of himself. 

"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean's head reared up from where he was cleaning Sam's back. He wasn't expecting Castiel to make an appearance so soon, or at all. "You didn't deserve that." Castiel rubbed a hand over his face. "I get so angry over Gabriel some times."

"You're just hurt." Dean looked back and forth between Cas and Sammy. His little brother had grown into a wise man, something Dean had never done. Even as a slave, before Alistair 'perfected' him, Dean had always been a little reckless and a little angry. Maybe that's why he was so drawn to Cas. They were too much alike.

"Yea." Cas nodded. "I mean I get why he likes you. I just—I don't know why he doesn't want to see me."

"It's hard for slaves to see their family again. Gabe still loves you. He just wants to be more," sam gestured widely, "more whole."

"Is he happy?"

"Yea." Sam nodded. "How's Dean?" Dean kept his look blank when he realized Sam was talking about him in front of him since he wasn't answering. Cas looked at Dean whose back stiffened almost immediately. Cas didn't look at him like that much, like he didn't believe Dean and was trying to figure out the truth. Cas usually believed Dean's answers. Dean didn't lie to Cas. They had been through too much to lie to each other. They muddled through their confusion together.

"Dean's good." Cas cocked his head. Dean smirked. He was over being pissed at Cas, but he was pretty pissed at himself. Cas knew he was pissed, Dean could tell, but he was covering for him. Cas could probably tell how uncomfortable Dean was. "Want me stitch up your back?" Cas offered.

"Well, I can't reach." Sam shrugged, revealing how he could be a smart ass like the rest of them. Cas hoped things could be patched over with Sam and Gabriel eventually. He liked Sam. He wished he had liked him as soon as he met him instead of putting his shit on him. Gabe was going to hate him if he didn't already. Great. Cas was fucking up again. He wished—sometimes he wished Dean hadn't saved his life. He was so tired all the time.

He retrieved the first aid kit and started to tend to Sam's back. Apparently he wasn't doing a good enough of a job because Dean pushed his hands out of the way and took over. Sam relaxed more under his brother's touch. Cas felt bad for Sam. He probably felt the same way about Dean that Cas felt about Gabriel. He was doing way better controlling his emotions than Cas was. Maybe Cas should go back and have another appointment with Billie because God, he needed to get his shit together before he hurt anyone else.

Sam and Lucifer were gone in the morning, before anyone woke up. Dean was relieved, but he felt bad about being so relieved. It wasn't Sam's fault that something was so seriously wrong with him. It wasn't Sam's fault he had been a slave. Seven years. Sam told him he had been gone for seven years. He mentioned the fire last night, but Dean had left. The fire from his nightmares was real: he didn't want to know anything more. His nightmares already left him breathless and sweaty, like his heart had been wrenched from his chest.

Castiel picked up Gabriel's room before they too left.

"You're quiet." Cas commented, touching Dean's forearm lightly as they settled into their seats. They were side by side this time as they flew through the clouds.

"You're not trying to get the stewardess to blow you." Dean returned the favor with a dig.

"It won't happen again either." Cas hung his head a bit, blowing out a sigh at the reminder of his own stupidity. "I'm sorry about what happened with Sam either."

"Don't worry about it. I barely remember him."

"You remembered him enough." Cas's thumb pressed over the lash mark on Dean's cheek. "Enough to protect him. Your loyalty to the ones you love... It's remarkable, Dean." Dean shivered slightly, relishing the praise. He hated that he missed being a slave. He missed not having to have feelings or opinions. He wanted to go back to that simplicity. He wanted to forget again.

"Cas." Dean turned to his former master who gripped him tightly in turn. Cas held him to his chest, holding his arm, holding him close. Dean hated flying, but he managed to fall asleep for an hour, safe in Cas's arms.

Back in Chicago, things seemed better. For a time. But Dean couldn't bury all his self-doubt and self-loathing in all the sex and cuddles that Cas gave him. Cas gave him a good life, but he didn't deserve it. He was nothing. He let Alistair make him nothing. He let Alistair make him nothing, begged for the drugs, begged to be made into the pliant, perfect slave he once was. Dean had given in and he hated himself for that.

"Dean." 

"Huh?"

"Where were you?" Cas gave a nervous laugh. Dean had been lost in his own head a lot in the last couple days. Cas was worried about him.

"I'm fine."

"You want to go see Billie with me next time? She's really good at cracking open noggins." Cas laughed weakly. Dean hated it when he brought up seeing a therapist and this time was no different. Dean bristled instantly, getting up and leaving the table. His dishes went with him, Cas could hear him rinsing in the kitchen. Normally, he'd get up and run after him, but Dean had been pretty emphatic lately about 'needing space.' Dean would fuck him, but he wouldn't entirely be present. Dean would eat with him, but he'd space out at his plate. Dean would snuggle until he thought Cas was asleep and then pull away, some nights he'd even pad down to his room, sleep in his bed, until a few minutes before Cas usually woke up. Cas learned to pretend to sleep just to figure out what the hell was going because he'd wake up in the middle of the night alone. Cas wasn't above getting up and looking for Dean; that's how he found out about the nightmares. Dean's nightmares were awful.

Then that night, Cas woke up to being a line again, a feeling of dread running through his veins. He got up as he always did, walking down to Dean's room only to find that empty as well. After checking the bathroom, which was also empty, Cas flicked on all the lights. Dean's clothes, Dean's toothpaste, shampoo, toothbrush were gone. Cas's emergency stash of cash, previously for illegal drug purchasing and now repurposed for emergencies was empty except for a note that said 'sorry.' The quickly scrawled 'thanks' all the way down on the paper wrenched Castiel's heart in a way he didn't expect. Had he come to care for Dean more than a roommate that he slept with? He didn't care to find out. Popping open the bottle of whiskey that he had hidden, the only one that survived Anna's purge, Cas set out to drown himself in Amber liquid. He'd forget. He'd forget Gabriel. He'd forget what he did to Sam. He'd forget his awful family. And he'd especially forget Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So right now my plan is to have Castiel's part in this story come to a close. This fic will probably only focus on Dean. I was wondering though what you all thought about that. Would you like it to just focus on Dean or would you like to have blurbs where we can get a glimpse of how Cas is doing?
> 
> I know he's not everyone's favorite right now, but please remember he's human. Part of being human is getting hurt and making mistakes, especially when judgement is impaired by feelings of anger or hurt. He's good, but he just needs to find it how to get back to that, instead of letting his emotions control him.
> 
> Which he still hasn't learned. Anywho, let me know!
> 
> -fluffy


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